


where we gonna go

by cyrusbarrone



Series: what next? [2]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Colloquial Language, Explicit Language, Gen, Minor Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, S03E06, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-30 01:37:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12643491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyrusbarrone/pseuds/cyrusbarrone
Summary: Isaiah, Finn and Michael and the aftermath of escaping a prison vehicle.Aftermath of season 3 finale





	where we gonna go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peccadilloes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peccadilloes/gifts).



> I've had this written since I was in college but it was never finished. I've still got another part or two to add to it, I just need to conceptualise where they go/what they do now. Stay tuned maybe there'll be an update in the future <3 
> 
> Itried to be consistent with the style i used in the first part of this fic so hopefully that came through. less finn fixated but still, kinda finn fixated.
> 
> Also this was written before season four was released do goes against canon.

Finn was knocking Isaiah’s knee. Kid was nervous and cold, was scared. Thing was Isaiah was too, he might’ve coordinated their escape but it didn’t mean nothing. Couldn’t think of what they was gonna do after – couldn’t think that they were gonna have to hide, fugitives in their own right. Couldn’t go back Birmingham and neither Finn nor him knew anywhere else. Michael knew the countryside but hated it, Isaiah doubted he’d guide them round there, show the hills and the lakes. He thought about cigarettes and how his had  
been taken. Thought Finn’s were gone too, and didn’t wanna ask Michael. 

The van’d been gone ages. None of them had moved though, laid down like, chests scratched from the grass and stomachs aching from discomfort. Sometimes Finn would move to speak but he’d stop. Michael’s jaw was square-like and set, like in continuous disapproval. Isaiah, well sometimes, he’d nudge Finn’s knee back. Kid needed the comfort. 

When gone dark Isaiah moved. Felt like they were just waiting for copper’s to come back and string them up, or something. Felt real vulnerable. And his stomach hurt. Legs cramped up when he stood, and he shook them out. Didn’t make much difference, legs felt heavy; solid. 

“We should go.”

He didn’t like the idea of them getting back in that van. Didn’t like the idea of Finn in dark brick cell, pissing in some pot, smoking cigarette stubs, didn’t like the idea of Finn’s youth being beat outta him. Not like he weren’t tough, kid was, kid could beat Isaiah in a fight if he tried – easy – but still. Didn’t want some bigger bloke smirking down at the prospect of kicking some Peaky Blinder’s kid; was something to tell the mates wasn’t it, look, Tommy Shelby’s kid brother pissed his pants like a baby when I kicked him enough; kid-brother’s nose broke easy, left a real bloody mess n’all. Isaiah didn’t want that for him. 

So they were gonna go. Somewhere. Finn stood, dusted his trousers off like some kid real proud of his clothes. Blinders boys had pride, pride and brute. Michael was more reluctant, older kid, wanted to be the one in charge – didn’t look at Isaiah as leader, saw himself. Wondered if there were any other choice though and assured himself that any one of them could have moved and said to go. Was easy – wasn’t to mean that Isaiah was in charge. 

“Where we gonna go?” Finn asked. Wanted to know, would have preferred a plan more than ‘we should go’ but what else was there? 

Michael stood. Michael hadn’t had his fags confiscated. Cigarettes would have been crushed if they wasn’t in a tin, but Michael was fancy-like, enjoyed the luxury of his monogrammed cigarette box. He didn’t offer them about, but Isaiah stepped up, took one from the box anyway. It stuck up defiant between his lips as he ducked, lit off Michael’s and shared with Finn. Didn’t think nothing about it, smoke connecting into one cloud around their heads.

“Was thinking we stay a few nights in countryside,” Isaiah said; passed the cigarette. “Till we figure something out. Michael knows some places, don’t you?”

He didn’t want to rely on Michael entirely but they had little choice. Not like they could wander back to Birmingham, where would they go? They were too recognizable; even if they ditched caps and nice suits, real Blinders luxuries, the hair was unmistakable; trademark. Even if nobody noticed them in the city they’d be scroungers, wouldn’t they, and couldn’t go back to Tommy, not Isaiah’s dad either – wondered if he was on his way to some prison, too. They were fairly optionless. 

“We gotta walk,” said Michael. He’d already turned, was going the opposite way the van had. “Come on.”

If it hadn’t been dark they’d have made a sight. The grass was uncut and the night blue. Sometimes Michael would stumble – but real composed-like, a misstep of the toe made to look purposeful – Finn and Isaiah were more likely to stumble, fall and ruin their nice tailored suits n’all. 

They walked a while, stopped to piss, smoke some more too but Isaiah weren’t sure that Michael really had a plan. Knew where they were going. Sometimes he’d look at Finn and they’d raise their eyebrows at each other, all questioning and Michael would huff and press forward. Thing was they were all tired – last time they’d ate was real early and it didn’t seem likely they’d get something soon.

“You know where you’re going?” Isaiah called to Michael.

Michael had his sleeves shoved into his elbows, face lacked expression. They was running out of cigarettes despite Finn and Isaiah sharing all charitable-like and Michael was getting stingy about it, holding the fancy box outta their reach. 

“Know better than you, don’I?”

They’d stopped. Somewhere to their right there was a pond, Finn had put his foot in the reeds and yelped disgust. Finn was next to Isaiah, arms crossed, looking like a local Tough. Isaiah wondered when it’d become Finn and Isaiah and not Michael and Isaiah. Felt odd to think that it’d been Michael close with him at some point, smacking fists against bigots.

“You fucking sure about that, mate? Pretty sure we seen that pond three times already,” Isaiah said, getting real uppity. Felt his fists clenching, jaw twitching. “Just give up, yeah? We’ll sleep out, who cares, put your fucking ego away and admit you’re lost!”

Michael, with his puffed sleeves and set jaw pushed forward like a wall, solid bristling like he’d been a Tough all his life – reminded Isaiah of him at the wedding, trying bravado against the wall with smoke and girls but he weren’t shit. Isaiah pushed forward too, inch of height on him, boasting advantage. 

“You don’t know your fucking place,” sneered Michael, arm all up in Isaiah’s throat, pushed him up against a tree they’d gone round twice already.

“We aren’t Blinders no more!” Isaiah spat. “Get your head out of your arse, alright, mate? You ain’t shit! You’re a fucking phony, you know that? Suit and hair cut don’t make you Blinders; blood don’t, neither. You was pretending the whole goddamn time, we was just amusing you, y’know? Kid plays imaginary nd mum goes, yes, kid, you’re a soldier – that’s all this was, Michael.”

“Fuck off,” Michael sneered. Arm a little harder on Isaiah’s throat, something close; cigarette breath huffed into Isaiah’s chin. “You don’t know shit. Real good plan, really, wasn’t it? Jump out the van! Now what, huh?”

Isaiah tucked his arm up, real neat-like, swift, under the bend of Michael’s elbows. He took a breath, used the exhale to push all his force into Michael. When Michael stumbled Isaiah pushed forward, on a winning streak – shoved and shoved till he stumbled, real dramatic-like onto the ground. Isaiah got on top of him, thighs bracketing chest – pinning Michael’s arms into the pond-wet ground. 

Finn wasn’t moving; was finishing off their shared cigarette. He weren’t one to waste a cigarette. He looked between Isaiah and Michael and flicked the fag-end at their feet. 

“We wasting time,” he said. 

Isaiah, if not Michael, flicked his eyes at the other. 

“Sack him up, all I care, Siah,” Finn said. “Think he own the place because he’s Polly’s, in’he? Don’t matter shit now, does it, what matters is that we get some fucking food and somewhere to stay. Now, right, Michael, you know this place –“

Isaiah’s thighs shifted as Michael tried to use the distraction to dislodge him. It didn’t work. Isaiah was a good fighter, knew that when he taught Michael a real upper-cut, teeth bruiser, not to teach him better than he knew himself. Michael stayed put. Isaiah patted absently for his cigarette case and smirked, slow, drawn, when he found it.

He held the cigarette box back to Finn who took it and released the final fag. He tilted his head, looking all parts calculating and all parts Shelby. “You know this place, so stop fucking around, right, and take us somewhere, yeah? Or we walking back into Birmingham and back to Tommy.”

Isaiah knocked his fist into Michael’s jaw a final time, a flourish, before he stood. Finn passed him the lit cigarette and Isaiah watched smoke trickle out of Finn’s nostrils. 

“Know a place,” Michael said. Tried a dignified look, standing, nose up, chin vertical an all. He had mud scuffed into his shirt and the backs of his trousers were sopped with pond water. 

“Convenient, mate,” Isaiah said, voice muffled around the cigarette.

It took half an hour for them to reach where Michael took them. It was some barn, far out from its assumed owners house. The door was crooked and hay spewed out onto the ground. Isaiah pushed Michael by his neck towards the door. 

Finn stood back next to Isaiah as Michael went in. Was precaution, wasn’t it, push the lesser-cared about at the door and wait it out. Finn leant against Isaiah’s shoulder; waited. Michael come back out quick enough; eyes blank but the flit he gave at their touching head and shoulder was obvious enough. Isaiah tilted his chin. Challenge. 

“It’s safe.”

“S’fucking barn, what wouldn’t be safe?” Finn asked, though they’d waited. He took Isaiah’s cigarette and ground it with his boot once it hit the bottom. 

The barn was empty of all but hay; there was a shit-ton of that. 

They slept.

**Author's Note:**

> please tell me what you think!!!!
> 
> i'm also at ivarrboneless on tumblr if u wanna talk about blinders or mr robot or kavinsky or ANYTHING <3


End file.
